Criminals
by spheeris1
Summary: AU :: One-shot :: Shifting POV's :: Hints of lust. Shady dealings. :: Spencer has rules that Ashley breaks. Ashley has an addiction to heat and just can't stay away.


There are only three things that Spencer requires of others in this world...

- Be on time.  
- Do your job without complaint.  
- Disappear.

After that, if you went home and took heroin, it was of no concern to her.  
If you went home and jerked off to online porn, the kind you only hear about in startled and shocked whispers, then that was your business.  
If you went home and blew your own brains out, that was all good by her.

Three things. Just three things. That's all she asks of anyone who comes into her world.  
And if you can't live up to these rules, then you might as well stay in bed and lose her number and maybe move to another town.

All decent people have rules.  
But not-so-decent people have standards, too.

/ / / /

Ashley loves fire.  
The way it jumps and the way wraps around all things and the way it burns.  
You can't touch it, but you can get close.  
You can start it up, but you can't stop it once it flares to life.

When she was five, she lit the match and watch her father's garage fill with smoke.  
Oil-covered rags tend to ignite pretty fast.  
The red trucks roared in and her mother fumed with anger and her father had to explain a whole load of stolen car parts uncovered by the blaze.

Five was a big year, after-all.  
It was the year her father got arrested.  
And it was the year that she discovered a dangerous kind of love.

/ / /

_"Everyone here?"_

_But one look around this room tells her the truth.  
She's got the driver and she's got the runner and she's got the hands that count the papers.  
There is the client and the client's nervous stare._

_And there is that missing piece. And Spencer snaps her fingers, sending a man to the door and to the street and to a girl's house.  
There are rules. They must be followed._

_"Can we speed this up? I need to get back, I am expected at the-"  
"You see this man here?" Spencer interrupts, pointing to the paper counter.  
And the client nods, edgy voice now silent.  
"This is the only person you need to focus on, got it? You pay him and all your worries will be for naught."_

_No one says 'naught' anymore and, somewhere, a high-school teacher is wetting themselves with misplaced pride.  
She smiles and it is probably a condescending sight.  
In fact, she knows that it is._

_The door opens and it isn't that well-paid bit of muscle, but the calm walk of someone who should have been here six minutes ago.  
Six minutes late and still thinking that they had a right to be here.  
Six minutes late and still thinking that they could grin and make it okay.  
Six minutes late and still the prettiest jack-ass in this ugly universe._

_"Sit." Spencer's voice is cold and it is not an act._

_And Ashley knows better than to balk. She does as told. This is her first gig, her first big show, her first step up to bat and she was told to not be even one second late.  
But her respect for regulations is lax, at the best to times.  
And her respect is invisible the rest of the time._

_Ashley looks at this tiny group and knows just who is who.  
The cut of clothing will reveal a lot about someone - nice shoes is vanity, bright shirt is insecurity, too much black is pompous.  
The client is all spit-shined and, yet, about one drop of sweat away from looking like a junkie._

_Being bad will ruin you, she knows this.  
But there are a billion things to blame for being here and she has used them all, for a mother who wanted better and for an endless list of girls who wanted more..._

_Still, Ashley loves the planning that goes into turning something solid into ash and getting away with it.  
It's what she is known for, in certain circles.  
It's what got the attention of Spencer Carlin_

_The client is leaving and then everyone else slowly does the same. But Spencer's hand is on her shoulder and the grip is hard._

_"You can stay."_

/ /

Disappear. Fade away. No longer exist. As if you were dead.  
Unless, of course, you are called back to action.  
Then the breath of life comes from the heavy weight of dollars against your palm and you are born again, born right back into the mire.

Trouble is, see, the trouble is that Ashley never leaves.  
Not really.  
Always around that corner, always hanging back after a job, always waiting and aiming for something that Spencer does not want to entertain.

And Ashley is nice to look at, with eyes barely open, when the curves turn and the arms go tense - just skin over bones, just movement - and Spencer sees more than she cares to.  
And Ashley has this way of talking, with lips barely shifting, where words get lost in whispers and tempting things are mentioned - just a hush of interest, just conversation - and Spencer listens more than she cares to.

That third rule is being twisted.  
And Spencer doesn't want to be the one to enforce it, but she knows that - one day - she'll have to or risk losing it all.

/

She is skidding along the road, merging with the night, and the car didn't show.  
And she doesn't know why the driver is late, but concern is for those who have a lot of time.  
And for those who don't commit crimes.

So, Ashley runs and it makes her legs ache and it causes a wicked little smile to break upon her lips as she goes one way and blue lights go the other.  
She's left no trace.  
She's left no prints.  
She's not on any camera and she's not on any radar.

You get good at one you do if you love what you do.

But her mind strays, every now and then, wanders over to a woman she just cannot shake from her thoughts. And it's not like she has any reason to obsess.  
Beautiful is all well and good, but Spencer never gives a hint of anything to come.

Spencer doesn't give anything away. Period.

Still.  
Ashley allows these things to roam in her brain, allows these things to carry her to that quiet office, allows these things to make her disregard everything else.

"Driver wasn't there. Had to hoof it."

Spencer does not look pleased. Ashley thinks that guy behind the wheel should start packing now. The blonde taps the corner of the desk and Ashley reaches over, opening the drawer and picking up a hefty envelope of cash.

"Everything else went well, I trust?"  
"Like clockwork."  
"Good. If anything turns up, I'll call."  
"Great."

Something says now or never, though. Something is pushing and Ashley wants to push back.

"Want to get a drink?"

And Spencer isn't naive, she knows the look in those brown eyes.  
Same look that's been there from day one.  
Same look she has seen in other women, drunk or sober or cute or passable.  
It's not aggressive, but it is blunt.  
It's got promise, but not necessarily for forever.

It's Ashley, though. Better looking than anyone should be and much too confident and never leaving and always there when the rest of the paid-players do as they are told.  
Spencer wants to come down hard.  
Spencer wants to exert her power.  
Spencer wants to remind Ashley of who is in control here.

But it is still a drink she wants, too.  
And the laying down of laws can come at the end of a tongue as well as the end of a gun.

**-END-**


End file.
